


A lot of things used to be

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Christmas, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:50:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: A post-513 cancer scare fic set in New York during the Christmas season.





	A lot of things used to be

Justin was looking around the gallery for Michael when his cell rang.

Brian's voice sounded amused even with the crappy connection. "How's Justin and Mikey's Chicago adventure going?" 

Justin walked a little closer to the windows, trying for a better signal. "Great. Well, I can't answer for Michael, as I haven't seen him in the last two hours…"

"I'm sure he's off somewhere, signing autographs for Rage fanboys." 

"I doubt it. This isn't Comic-Con, Brian. It's a serious art exhibit of comic art through the…" Just then Justin caught sight of Michael in the far corner, signing autographs for a small group of teenagers. "Ummm, you'll be there when I get home?"

"With jingle bells on," Brian assured him. "Later."

Brian ended the call, and stood looking at the phone for a long minute before slipping it into his pocket. Then he went out the door of his oncologist's New York office building, ignoring the doorman's offer to call him a cab.

____________________________________________________

 

Justin tried to get Michael's attention without also getting the attention of the fans, but he ended up signing autographs until it was time to meet their publisher for dinner. 

"Nice place," Michael said as they got out of the cab. 

Justin looked at the menu in the window next to the door. "Let's just hope he's paying."

He was. He was also trying to get them to agree to a series of appearances at regional comic conventions, at their own expense.

After he'd picked up the bill and rushed off, Michael and Justin looked at each other across the table. 

"Maybe if they stopped taking their authors out for expensive dinners, they could afford to pay for our publicity events," Michael observed.

Justin shrugged. "Where's the fun in that for them?"

It was snowing when they got to the airport, but Michael's flight to Pittsburgh left on time. Justin's departure was delayed, and it was almost 1 AM when he got back to the loft on 14th Street.

He dropped his bag near the kitchen counter and pulled his scarf off his neck. Brian was normally incapable of going to bed at night if so much as a single spoon was in the sink, so when he saw a piece of yellow paper on the counter, he picked it up before walking up the half-flight of stairs to the bedroom.

Brian wasn't asleep. He was lying in bed, one dim light on, pillows behind his head. 

Justin just stood there, the paper in his hand. He didn't say anything.

"You're home," Brian finally said.

Justin moved the hand holding the paper a little. "You left this for me?"

Brian nodded. "I couldn't think of anything I less wanted to do than tell you." Justin started to say something, but Brian held up a hand. "However, I knew if I didn't tell you, and you found out, you'd kill me."

"True." Justin's voice was grim.

"And if I didn't tell you and you didn't find out, and I turned out to have lung cancer, it would be a lot of work to hide it from you, and you'd inevitably find out anyway, and again…"

"I'd kill you." His eyes narrowed. 

Brian nodded once more. "So, since I want to live…" he looked right into Justin's eyes… "I decided to just leave that where you'd see it."

Justin sat down next to him on the bed, reading the paper again. "What does it mean?"

"It means that during my annual CT scan looking for signs of cancer, they noticed that one of the previously-imaged spots on my lungs appeared to have grown larger since last year."

Justin took a deep breath. "You had spots on your lungs and you didn't tell me?" 

Brian sat up, and grabbed Justin's wrist. "Settle down, JT. Most people have spots on their lungs, especially if they smoke. You probably have them. They're normal."

Justin stood up. "But you stopped smoking."

"They don't go away." Brian watched Justin for a few seconds, and then pushed the duvet away and got up. "Stop making this about me telling you. You're not pissed about that." He paused. "You're not pissed, actually. You're afraid."

He stood in front of Justin, took the paper out of his hand, and let it fall to the floor. Then he pressed his forehead against Justin's. "It's nothing. It's routine."

Justin's voice was muffled. "You don't know that." He lifted his head. "When are they doing the biopsy?" He frowned. "And where are they doing it? Johns Hopkins again?"

Brian shook his head. "Sloan-Kettering. I figured if it's good enough for Ruth Bader Ginsburg, it's good enough for me." 

"Brian…"

He cut him off. "No drama. No whining." He put his hands on either side of Justin's face. "Just promise me one thing…"

Justin took another deep breath and tried to smile. "That if you die, I'll one day find it in my heart to marry again?"

"Fuck no," he said. "Once is enough, and living in my shadow would be enough to destroy any relationship."

"Then what?"

Brian pressed his forehead against Justin's again. "Promise me you won't make Debbie's chicken soup this time."

Justin laughed, and then he started to cry, and the two of them just stood there.

____________________________________________________

 

Brian looked up from his laptop at Justin, who was standing at the kitchen sink, staring fixedly at a spot on the brick wall behind it, hands in the sink, not moving.

He decided to ignore both Justin's uncharacteristic attempt at dishwashing and his statue impersonation. "I have to go to Pittsburgh for a meeting tomorrow."

Justin looked over his shoulder. "What? I mean, you do? Why? Don't you think you…"

"Should lie in bed with a knitted afghan tucked under my chin while you spoon feed me?" His voice was level, but it had an edge.

Justin took his hands out of the sink and wiped them on his jeans. "Don't be an idiot. I was going to say, don't you think you should see Michael while you're there?"

Brian went back to his laptop. "I'm sure he'll stop by when Theodore tells him I'm in town."

Justin sat down at the table across from Brian. "I mean, see him and tell him about… Sloan-Kettering?"

Brian didn't look up. "You haven't told him?"

Justin shook his head. "I haven't said anything to anyone." He looked at Brian, who avoided his eyes. "Yet."

Brian sighed. "Can we not turn this into a thing?"

"You mean, can we keep it a secret?"

Brian shrugged, and kept flipping through his emails while Justin tried to get him to look up with his powers of mind control.

Brian kept his eyes on the screen, and Justin finally got up and went into his studio. Brian finished washing the dishes before he followed him in.

Justin wasn't painting, drawing, or working at his computer. He was using his paint blade to slash red and blue pigment together on his palette.

"That looks therapeutic," Brian observed from the doorway.

Justin didn't look up. "It's none of your business how I process this."

Brian laughed. "God, you really have to stop hanging out with all those dykes at the gallery."

Justin gave him a bright, false smile. "Fuck you."

Brian sat at Justin's worktable. "Do you want to come to the Pitts with me? Visit your mommy? Have lunch with Daphne?"

"See Michael and act like everything's fine?"

Brian just looked at him until Justin finally put his palette down. "Sorry. I just keep thinking about last time…"

"I don't want to tell anyone unless I have to."

Justin didn't answer right away. "Okay," he finally said. "If that's what you want. But I'll just stay here." He nodded at the canvas on his easel. "I have to work, anyway."

____________________________________________________

 

The snow had fallen all night, and the streets were still white and quiet when Brian walked to the corner to get a cab the next morning. His flight was on time, the airplane coffee undrinkable, and the flight attendants in first class obsequious. Just like the hundreds of other times he'd made the same trip, at first to visit Justin in New York, and then to go back to Pittsburgh to keep Kinnetik going after he'd moved.

"The prodigal returns." Ted was standing just inside the door, a very large Starbucks cup in hand. "I had a feeling you'd need this."

"Bucking for a raise, Theodore? It'll take more than caffeine," Brian said. But he took it.

"Anything I should know before Ramson gets here?" Ted asked, following Brian into the conference room.

Brian shook his head, sipping his coffee. "The FDA's easing up on its restrictions on advertising their flu drug, but they've never used us for their mainstream market campaigns."

Cynthia came in, and put a folder on the table. "They have nothing new in the pipeline. And the stiff dick drug campaign is going…"

"Say ‘gangbusters' and you're fired," Brian said. 

"Better than projections."

Ted put a folder in front of him. "In fact, I'd say it's going better than their wildest dreams."

Brian looked at the numbers, then shrugged. "What can I tell you? An aging population of horny men. It's a marketing dream."

Ted frowned. "You don't think they're letting us go?"

Cynthia shook her head. "Ramson wouldn't have bothered coming here himself just to let us go."

"Mr. Ramson," announced the receptionist from the door.

Brian stood up. "Larry."

"Brian," he said, holding out his hand. He glanced at the table, and smiled. "A much nicer spread than the fruit plate that began our relationship."

"Bagel? Smoked salmon?" Ted held out a platter as Cynthia poured the coffee.

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I'd like to jump right to the point."

Brian waited.

"I'm sure you know the FDA's letting us advertise Enzyflu again."

Brian nodded. "Go on."

Ramson leaned back. "We were discussing our options for advertising, and in light of the extraordinary impact the Kinnetik campaigns have had with our erectile dysfunction and HIV products, several members of the team wondered what you might do for us if you had our entire account."

Ted and Cynthia looked like someone had punched them in the stomach, but Brian just nodded again. "We'd do brilliantly."

Ramson hid a smile. "Well, we'd like you to come to the Yardley office at the end of January and present to us. Is that enough time?"

"Of course." Ted had regained his powers of speech. "I'll call Bernard and get it on the schedule, and set up a preliminary meeting to review the product lines."

Ramson stood up. "I know this is much bigger than anything else we've had you do, but I have faith in you, Brian. That's why I came myself."

Brian held out his hand. "We appreciate it. And that's why this campaign will get my full and personal attention."

Brian walked him out to where his car and driver were waiting. When he came back in, Ted and Cynthia were still sitting at the table, frantically making notes on their laptops.

Cynthia looked up. "I told you they weren't firing us."

"Admit it, Brian," Ted said. "You're surprised."

"Theodore," Brian said, picking up a bagel and tearing it in two pieces. "I'm only surprised it took them this long to fire Marsh and Jackson." He sat down, reaching across the table for a slice of smoked salmon. "Let's get to work."

____________________________________________________

 

It was Brian's turn to get home after midnight. Justin was asleep on the sofa, the television still on, and Brian had to shake him awake. "We should get a guard dog," he said. "You'd sleep through an armed home invasion."

Justin yawned and stretched. "A dog would shed on your designer furniture and clothes."

"A fate worse than home invasion." He turned off the TV with the remote, then held out his hand. "Up."

He yawned again, and let Brian pull him to his feet. "How did it go?"

"Another dazzling milestone in an already brilliant career." He flipped off the lights, and steered Justin toward the bedroom stairs. "Ramson fired their main ad agency, and wants us to pitch at the end of next month."

Justin stopped at the top of the stairs. "For all their drugs?"

Brian nodded. "Every single one. Over the counter, too."

Justin stared. "Brian… by the end of next month?" 

Brian walked around him. "All I have to do is come up with the ideas. I have minions for the heavy lifting." He pulled his tie off. "It'll be fine. Come to bed." He opened his slacks. "And no, I didn't tell Michael. I'll tell him when I know."

Justin stepped out of his jeans. "I didn't ask."

"I can read your mind." 

Justin grinned. "That's unlikely, or your dick would be a lot harder than that already."

____________________________________________________

 

Brian was almost asleep when Justin lifted his head from his chest. "I told my mom we weren't coming for Christmas."

Justin's hair felt silky in Brian's fingers. "Did she ask why?"

"I told her I have an ear infection."

Brian laughed. "Did you get a lecture on taking your allergy medication?"

He nodded, putting his head back on Brian's chest. "I told her we'd come for New Year's. We should…"

"Know by then," Brian finished. 

Justin nodded. Brian thought he'd fallen asleep, but a minute later he sighed. "Our first Christmas here."

Brian kissed his hair, and didn't answer.

____________________________________________________

 

"Do either of you have any questions?" The nurse's voice was annoyingly professional and polite. 

"No," Brian said. He raised a brow. "Justin?"

"No, nothing."

"He's memorized everything on Google about lung biopsies already," Brian told her. "Don't take it personally."

She smiled, and stood up. "Well, then, you can come with me, Mr. Kinney. Mr. Taylor, someone will come out here to tell you when the procedure is finished, but if you have any questions before that, just ask at the desk." 

Brian followed her down the hall, and changed into the hideous gown she handed him.

"Tell me I don't have far to walk wearing this charming ensemble," he said when he emerged from the changing room.

She shook her head, the same plastic smile on her face. "Just a few doors away," she said.

It was more like half a floor, but the hallway was empty. He lay down on the narrow bed, and the team fussed around him, asking him his name and birthdate, and making marks on his chest with a pen. 

A doctor held out a very small needle and said, "You'll feel a little prick."

"That'll be a first," he told her.

Even with a sedative flowing through his IV, he felt some apprehension when he caught sight of the biopsy needle. "Some patients prefer to close their eyes," the doctor said gently.

So he did.

____________________________________________________

 

"They said it would take an hour," Justin said. "It's been more than two. I…"

"Sometimes it takes a little longer," the woman at the desk said. "They'll come out when they're done."

He shook his head. "I'd like you to call them."

He heard someone say his name, and he turned around. "Is he okay?"

The nurse smiled. "Yes, he's fine. We need to observe him for a few hours in case of complications, but you can come back and see him."

Brian was lying in a hospital bed, his eyes closed. Justin kissed his forehead lightly, and he opened them. "Hey."

Justin sat on the edge of the bed. "How was it?"

Brian thought about it. "I don't recommend it. Not even with the good drugs."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The nurse walked up. "How are you doing, Mr. Kinney? Any chest pain, or trouble breathing?"

Brian drew a deep breath, and coughed. She made a note on the chart. "Don't worry about the cough, even if there's a little blood. It's perfectly normal. But tell us right away if…"

"I can't breathe, or my chest hurts. I know." He glanced at Justin. "I told you; Justin memorized Google."

It was dark when they got home, and the Christmas lights from the stores across the street blurred in the falling snow. When the elevator got to the top floor, Brian didn't get out right away. 

Justin stood in the open door, waiting. "What's wrong?"

Brian pushed away from the wall. "Just a little tired."

"Oh, fuck," Justin said, slipping his arm around his waist. "That means you're two steps away from total collapse."

Brian let him help him to the sofa. Justin went into the kitchen and got a beer for himself, and a bottled water for Brian.

He frowned when Justin handed it to him. "Control freak."

Justin shrugged, and sat down. "I'm ordering Chinese. "

He shuddered. "No yak shit tea."

"I promise. Do you want anything?"

Brian shook his head, and by the time Justin's food came, he'd fallen asleep.

____________________________________________________

 

The oncologist had said it would take a week for the results. "We can usually get them in five," he'd said, "but with the holidays…"

"Of course," Brian had told him. "You want to make sure people suffer anxiety and fear for a few extra days, in the spirit of the season."

On Christmas Eve, they went out to dinner, and then to a Chelsea bar a couple of blocks from the loft. There was almost no one there. 

"To oncology, radiology, astrology, and histopathology," Brian said, holding up his glass to Justin's.

"To your health," Justin said.

Brian rolled his eyes, but he drank it down.

"Well," Brian said, "this isn't the festive occasion I'd hoped for when you suggested we go out." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to wander around in the snow and try to find a poor little match girl to save?"

Justin put his hands flat on Brian's chest. "I think I just want to go home."

Brian touched his forehead to Justin's. "See, the problem with that, Justin, is that you're going to gaze sadly out the window and then into my eyes, and sigh a lot. And that's really going to kill my Christmas high."

"You hate Christmas," he pointed out.

Brian nodded. "And imagine how much more so, with you sighing and gazing."

Justin laughed weakly.

"I have an idea," Brian said, and pulled Justin toward the door. He found a cab, and told him to take them to Rockefeller Center.

"I refuse to ice skate," he said as they pulled away from the curb. "But I think I can probably gawk at the Christmas tree for a few minutes without suffering some sort of breakdown, as long as you promise to never tell anyone."

"I love you," Justin said. "You're really fucked up, but I love you."

"Me, too," Brian said, lacing their fingers together on the seat between them.

When they got there, the ice rink was jammed. They stood at the railing looking down at the skaters, sipping hot coffee they'd bought at a kiosk. 

"Three more days." Justin was sorry when he'd said it, but Brian just nodded.

"They probably have the results now," he said. "But my doctor wasn't going to be in until the 27th, so we wait. Asshole."

Justin bumped his head against Brian's shoulder. "Thanks for coming here."

Brian tossed his empty cup into a trash can, and pulled Justin against him. "It wasn't entirely horrible." He grinned down at him. "Although you now owe me a really stellar Christmas Eve blow job."

Justin let his hip shift so it was pressing into Brian's groin. "I'll see what I can do when we get home."

____________________________________________________

 

The next day, Brian called Gus, who was veering wildly between pre-teen scorn of Christmas sentimentality and a child-like enjoyment of the holiday. But for the rest of the day, Brian worked on the Ramson pitch while Justin painted in his studio. The only concession Brian made to the day was getting out a really good bottle of wine to go with the pasta Justin made.

"Boxing Day is not an American holiday," Brian told Ted on the phone the next morning. "I expect everyone to be at the office slaving away over the Ramson pitches I emailed you last night."

"We're all here, Bri," Ted said. "Are you coming in?"

Brian was silent for a minute, then said, "Not until the 28th. I have some business here."

"How's Justin?" Ted asked. "Michael said he had an ear infection?"

"Almost good as new," Brian said. "These modern wonder drugs really are miraculous."

"I hope he's taking one of the Ramson antibiotics," Ted said. "Keep all that nice money in the family."

Justin was watching him when he hung up the phone. "Everything okay?"

"Couldn't be better. They're all slaving while I enjoy my enforced oncological holiday. What more could I ask for?"

Justin didn't laugh, or say anything, and Brian frowned. "This is one of those black humor moments that keep us from crying. Work with me."

"Are you afraid?" Justin's voice was quiet.

Brian stood up and walked into the kitchen. "I'm fucking scared out of my mind." He got a beer out of the refrigerator. "Want one?"

Justin nodded, walked over, and took it from his hand. Brian caught the back of his neck with his free hand, and put his lips at Justin's ear. "Just one more day."

"What will you do if it's malignant?"

Brian put the beer down. "I was hoping we could get through the week without doing this."

"Just tell me you aren't going to get weird."

Brian snorted. "Can you imagine any possible scenario where I don't ‘get weird,' if it's malignant?"

"Promise me you'll…"

"No." Brian's voice was hard. "I've already made all the promises I'm going to make."

He'd turned his face away, but Justin reached up and grabbed his chin. "In sickness and in health. That's what we promised."

"I remember," Brian said.

Justin bit his lip, and nodded. "Okay, then."

Brian relaxed. "Glad we settled that," he said, and kissed him.

It snowed the next day, the first time since the day of the biopsy. It was beautiful and white and cold, and Brian thought it was the perfect weather for the feeling in his gut.

Justin held his hand as they rode up in the elevator, and Brian couldn't help tightening his grip on his fingers when the doors opened. 

The doctor didn't see them right on time. "You'd think for these prices, they could avoid double-booking," he snapped, tossing the magazine he'd been pretending to read down on the table. He looked at Justin, who wasn't even pretending to read; he was just sitting there, chewing on his thumbnail.

Brian stared at him for a minute, wondering how he could suddenly look like a teenager again, insecure and worried. He sighed, and pulled Justin's hand away from his face, and held it. 

They were called in a few minutes later, and the doctor shook both their hands. "I won't make you wait," he said. "There was no malignancy. You're fine."

Brian closed his eyes for a second, and felt Justin's nails dig into his palm. "Thank you," he said to the doctor. He nodded, and started babbling about lung nodules and his next year's check-up, but all Brian could hear was the beating of his heart.

He ran down the stairs, pulling Justin after him, both of them slipping a little in the snow. When they got to the sidewalk, Justin threw his arms around Brian's neck, and Brian pulled him off his feet, kissing him. 

"You know," he said, their lips still pressed together, "I could fuck you right now, right here, in front of everyone, snow and all."

Justin laughed, and felt Brian set him back down on his feet. "And I'd let you, but…"

Brian kissed him again. "But?"

"As romantic and spontaneous as that idea is, there's the small issue of getting arrested for public indecency…"

Brian sighed. "I understand. Not the way you wanted to spend the holidays."

"Exactly." Justin smiled at him. "Any other time of year."

Brian threw his head back, the snow landing softly on his face. He took a deep breath, and looked at Justin. "Let's walk."

"It's like… four miles." 

Brian smiled. "Come on." And he wrapped his arm around Justin's shoulders, and pulled him in close. "It's good for you."

"You're crazy," Justin said. But he went with him anyway.


End file.
